Chapter 2 - UNWELCOME GUESTS
Matthias’s fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass so hard the crystal protested. "What did you say, Serena?"
"You heard me," I said, keeping my tone smooth and level.
I didn't look at him. I looked toward the grand entryway, where the oak double doors parted once more against the howling winter wind.
Two men stepped across the threshold.
They weren't dressed in the tailored velvet tuxedos or designer dinner jackets worn by the Dre family's wealthy circle. The older man wore a sharp charcoal trench coat, his hair steel-gray and cropped short. Beside him walked a younger man carrying a slim, heavy leather case. Both had the unmistakable posture of men who walked into rooms looking for exits and structural vulnerabilities.
Matthias followed my gaze. I watched the blood drain from his neck, leaving his face the color of wet parchment.
"Detective Miller," Matthias whispered, his breath catching. "Why is State Police Major Crimes standing in my father’s foyer?"
"Because you wouldn't listen to me if I told you alone," I replied softly. "And because unlike you, Matthias, I don't pretend that threats against human lives are just minor inconveniences."
Across the marble foyer, Arthur Dre, my father-in-law and the patriarch of Dre Capital, stepped away from his conversation with two state senators. Arthur was seventy-two, his silver hair combed back with military precision, his authority unquestioned in Fairfield County. His eyes swept over the two detectives, then darted to Matthias, and finally settled on me.
"Serena," Matthias hissed, stepping directly between me and the entryway, his voice dropping into a desperate, urgent rasp. "You have no idea what you’ve done. You think this is about Fiona? You think this is some childish game of getting back at me for an infidelity?"
"I don't care about Fiona's necklace anymore, Matthias. I care about the fact that somebody marked this house for slaughter."
"Lower your voice!" he spat, looking wildly around the room.
Fiona Vale had noticed the commotion. She set her untouched champagne flute on a passing silver tray and glided toward us, the diamond choker catching every beam from the chandelier above. Her smile was rehearsed, polished like glass, but her eyes were darting toward the two state troopers now conferring with Arthur by the entrance.
"Is there an issue, Matthias?" Fiona asked, her voice silky and low. She glanced down at my swollen stomach with an expression that fell somewhere between pity and mild disgust. "Serena, darling, you look exhausted. Perhaps you should sit down in the library before dinner is served."
"The necklace is lovely, Fiona," I said, holding her gaze. "Thirty-four carats. Harry Winston, isn't it? Purchased on the fourteenth of November at the Fifth Avenue salon."
Fiona’s hand involuntarily drifted to her collarbone. Her knuckles whitened against the gems. She didn't deny it. Instead, she offered a cold, brittle smirk. "Your husband has generous corporate gratitude, Mrs. Dre."
"My husband didn't buy that necklace with his company bonus," I said.
That was the first crack in the facade. Fiona’s eyes flickered to Matthias, genuine confusion flashing across her features. "What is she talking about?"
"Nothing," Matthias snapped, sweating now despite the December draft. "Serena, come with me right now. To the study."
"I’m not going anywhere private with you," I said firmly, taking half a step back so my back was protected by the grand staircase. "Detective Miller isn't here for your domestic drama, Matthias. He’s here because four hours ago, I handed him the original blueprint mailed to my attorney."
Matthias went rigidly still. "You gave him the diagram?"
"Answer me one question," I demanded, leaning in so only he and Fiona could hear. "Who wrote the words collateral losses under our daughter's nursery layout on the third floor?"
Fiona gasped, taking an involuntary step back from Matthias. Her rehearsed poise slipped away, revealing genuine terror. "The nursery? Matthias... you told me the documents were strictly financial records from the holding firm!"
Before Matthias could answer, Arthur Dre arrived beside us. The patriarch looked down at his son with cold disappointment, then looked at me. Behind him, Detective Miller stood watching, his hands loosely clasped in front of his overcoat.
"Matthias," Arthur commanded quietly. "Step into the billiard room. Now."
"Father, it’s a misunderstanding," Matthias pleaded, his voice cracking. "Serena is overreacting because of the pregnancy and—"
"A state investigator just informed me there is an active explosive sweep underway on the outer gatehouses," Arthur interrupted, his voice dropping like an anvil. "He says your wife provided an authenticated shipping manifest linked directly to an offshore account bearing our family crest. Is that true?"
I stood watching them. For weeks, I had believed Matthias was the monster—a cheating husband who had become so greedy he was willing to burn down his family’s empire and sacrifice anyone who stood in his path for an insurance payout or corporate leverage.
Then Arthur looked directly at Fiona.
He didn't look angry with her. He looked at her with familiar, quiet deference.
"Fiona," Arthur said, his tone entirely different from the harsh bark he had used on his own son. "Did you retrieve the key from the safe deposit box in Stamford as we discussed?"
My heart stopped.
I looked from Arthur to Fiona, and then to Matthias.
Matthias wasn't the mastermind. He was trembling. His eyes were wide, darting between his powerful father and his polished mistress like a trapped animal. The realization struck me like a physical blow. Matthias hadn't set this horrific plan into motion.
He was the patsy.
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And as Fiona slowly reached into her designer evening bag and pulled out a worn brass key with an engraved serial number, she wasn't looking at Matthias at all. She was smiling faintly at Arthur Dre.
"The sweep won't find anything at the gatehouse, Arthur," Fiona murmured softly. "Because it isn't at the gatehouse."
